


Ante(de)grade(ation)

by sharklion



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: AU, Amnesia, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharklion/pseuds/sharklion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nakajima bows, and after a moment's hestitation carefully doesn't contradict Reiji. "We've been warned any further modification of his memories could be detrimental to his mental state," he informs him.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>An AU fic where Akaba Reiji and Akaba Leo are in league, and Shun loses what little he has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ante(de)grade(ation)

The tournament stretches on, unending. Shun is sure it’s not the same one anymore, but when he objects he finds the specifics slide away from him, and Reiji’s calm is so damn _reasonable_ in shutting down his objections.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong with _him_. Sakaki Yuuya has Yuuto's dragon; he hasn't heard from Yuuto in what must be days. Ruri remains missing. Leo Akaba is _somewhere_ , alive and breathing. 

He can't interrupt the tournament if he wants that to change.

But no one makes it as long as he managed in Heartland if they can't manage stealth, and how to time and strategize attacks. He'd been trying to get attention before, but now that he has that he could easily slip past, unnoticed. The observation room could be home for all the time he spends in it now, so time was on his side, to memorize the security camera positions, extrapolated from footage on the monitors. He knows this hallway, he knows that view.

At nights they've gotten used to him and Reiji alternating who stays later, Reiji sometimes when work calls for it, and Shun sometimes driven by the hope of desperation, needing some glimspe of _anything_ the cameras can offer him. When he leaves, he leaves the room unaccompanied and he knows which stairwells have easily disabled security. 

So one night he detours— he took out the alarm days ago, and he checked in the surveillance room. Still out. Nothing happens when he cracks open the door, and glances up for missed cameras. None, and he has the first floor floor patterns memorized-- he won't be able to get out there, but there's a blind spot on the second floor, if he's willing to escape from there. (He's fallen further more times than he can count.) Tonight, there will be more than glaring at screens from the roost.

He dashes down the stairs and avoids where the cameras are set, leaping an extra railing to skip a landing, and makes time that would nearly beat an elevator. The fifteenth floor— the eighth— fifth— and he exits the second, to an office with windows that he knows open. 

Except—

Except—

They don't. More than locked, they're sealed shut. They never could have opened in the first place. He whirls around, his thoughts racing— it's possible he reversed the layout in his head from his turns in the stairwell and the office he needs is across the way. His hand grasps the door and his wrist begins to wrench it open when— there's not enough resistance. Reiji calmly opens it, from the other side. Shun startles— why— but he doesn't step back, he releases and steps forward in deliberate aggression, "Let me go!"

Reiji blocks the doorway and doesn't move, "No. That you cannot leave the building without getting caught doesn't speak well of your subtlety."

Glowering Shun tenses and narrows his eyes, gaze fixed out into the darkened hallway beyond. He sees now, the black glass that hides a lens, set beside a light fixture. _There is something wrong with him_. He hadn't remembered it. He had the wrong room. The windows were sealed and there was no escape from here. He can't even argue, he knows it's his failure. He exhales and attempts to push past Reiji, for the elevator. 

But Reiji traps his wrist and shuts the door behind them. A lock clicks into place with the closed door. "How long has this attempt been planned?"

Shun wouldn't answer even if he _could_. He doesn't need to give Reiji more ammunition with which to assault his competency. Still looking past him, focused on the closed door, "Get off me," he orders, instead.

Reiji does not. He jerks Shun's chin up and his eyes have no choice but to meet his, "We have the same goals. Your being uncooperative works to disadvantage _both_ of us. If there is something else you need provided, speak."

"Yuuto is still gone. And _Ruri_." His glare doesn't falter as he yanks Reiji's hand away, but keeps eye contact.

"Your comrades. . . I see." For the little it's worth, Reiji seems to consider it. "You require more companionship than has been provided. In that case, my door is always open to you."

Shun wants to bite that _that's not it_ but he doesn't want to prolong this conversation either. He nods, a stiff acknowledgement. "Fine." Reiji nods back, formal, and the door clicks unlocked behind them.

—

"Restore Kurosaki's knowledge of the layout of the second floor. Remove the parts of the conversation relevant to his attempt at leaving, but keep the offer in. As far as he's concerned, that is the only thing of interest that happened tonight," with a final glance over his written recommendations and the paused footage of the night, Reiji finishes summarizing.

Nakajima bows, and after a moment's hesitation carefully doesn't contradict Reiji. "We've been warned any further modification of his memories could be detrimental to his mental state," he informs.

"He is too disruptive to be allowed out. If he is aware of our interrupting his attempts, he will become uncooperative. Should this happen again, discourage him then remove the memories. The subconscious reminder should stay firm and minimize the chance of future necessities arising." Reiji doesn't even pause.

Acknowledging, Nakajima lowers his head. "Sir."

—

_Why is he still here?_

He twitches towards the door, acting on plans that feel embedded in his head, though he doesn’t remember acting on them once. Then he flinches back. He’s here for a _reason_. He’s sunk too much time into this to fail now.

If he wasn’t here for a reason, he would have _tried_ to escape already. He grits his teeth and glares at the door, before turning away. Soon. _Soon._ When the bruises and the injuries heal, he will leave. All these pointless action duels blur together, but _next time_ he will be more careful.

"You're still not changed." Reiji's voice comes from behind him, from the hall door he'd turned away from, and he starts. "Himeka and the press will be in attendance, and here soon." His tone makes it clear that they're of equal importance. Since Shun has shown no inclination to sort through the LDS provided closet himself, Reiji removes a recently pressed suit and lays it in front of him. "Change."

"I am _not_ your dress-up doll!" Shun grinds out, even as he picks up the clothes.

"No. You are currently acting as a representative of LDS, and I will not have our reputation tarnished." He reaches over and pushes Shun's tattered coat off his shoulders, and folds it in his arms. "You recall the lesson in table manners?"

Shun's face heats. The way he is now, it could be an honest question. However, the answer is _yes_. "Yes! I'll be fine for your time-waster of a dinner party." He fumbles with the knot of his bandanna and roughly tugs at his buttons, stripping his shirt off and throwing it on the bed.

Reiji picks it up as well, and folds it over his coat. "Fundraiser," he corrects as Shun replaces his shirt, and coming over to do up the last button when Shun leaves it undone.

"I don't see the point to this. I'm not _playing house_ here forever."

"You are here now." He says as if that's all that's needed to make going through this farce worth it. He ties the tie Shun avoided touching for him, and steps back, leaving room for Shun to stand. "Come. We will not be late."

Reiji leaves the room, and Shun falls in step behind him. He hates these events, but Reiji is right— right now, there is nowhere else for him to be.

—

He paces Reiji's office, as has become habit. There is no one in this damn building he can trust, but Reiji has kept his word and always has time for him. He will hear what he has to say, even if he doesn't _listen_.

"Kurosaki. Now is not the time."

"Then when?!" he snarls, desperation leaking in. He is fraying, like the ends of the coat he no longer wears. He doesn’t know where it went. Reiji looks at him impassively, over red frames. It’s no good. He knows it’s no good to shout at Reiji, it never is. He exhales, loudly. "I am going to train. Have the field set to Heartland."

"Aah. Very well." Reiji acknowledges behind him.

If nothing else, he won't forget that.

But the field holds no answers for him, and the holographic streets are empty of meaning. He wins against the AI in a match that is no contest at all.

"Reiji!" he shouts, as the solid vision system shuts down. Obligingly, Reiji's image appears on his duel disk, "Restart the system then come down and fight me!"

"Very well." Another minute, and he stepped out onto the field, duel disk at ready. "Begin, Kurosaki."

Shun will make him regret forfeiting the advantage of the start. And he does— Reiji's deck is built with high costs for high advantages, and cards to mitigate its own weaknesses, but Shun's deck is built for victories clawed from the jaws of defeat. Pendulum summons, Synchro, Fusion, XYZ, all the special summons only put more power in Shun's hands, but Reiji knows his weaknesses and strengths well and compensates. 

But what he can't match is Shun's athletics. Even now his strength has increased from before— days of near starvation are no longer his reality. He wrests an action card out of Reiji's reach, slamming it onto his duel disk. At his attack being useless, beneath him, Reiji announces, "I end my turn," and in that moment the hate Shun feels is so visceral it's all he can do to fist the cloth of Reiji's turtleneck to heft him up and slam him back on the ground. It's the _same_ , this useless attitude that saw dueling as nothing more than a _game_.

"Don't you realise what happens to losers!?" he yells, like he'd wanted to at every tournament opponent. 

"Nothing. There are no stakes riding on this, Kurosaki. You asked for a partner to practice dueling with, and I provided." Reiji is unimpressed, even from beneath him. For all that Shun is stronger than him, there isn't the slightest shadow of worry. "Nakajima is still monitoring and will object if you try anything."

His fury and helplessness in that moment is so profound that he no longer gives a damn who wins. The pastel brights of Heartland are nothing more than a shallow reflection, and this field has nothing to offer him. Not victory, not death. He can barely even pretend to think of the imitation as home, anymore.

He ejects his deck and climbs to his feet. "I'm done." Then he leaves, because he is.

-

As he sweeps by to his own battlefield, he sees the stats for the Junior match happening simultaneously. The display has Layra’s age wrong— he isn't that old yet. He can't be.

-

"You didn't tell me Layra's birthday passed," Shun accuses. It's more than that— _how much time has it been_ , but this is the easiest, the most convenient excuse. 

Reiji never rises to the bait and this is no different. "Did you want an invitation?"

"Cut the shit. How long have I been here?!" 

Reiji leans forward, chin against his hands folded in front of him. He sounds genuinely curious. "You don't remember?"

"No—" he catches himself too late, his weakness already admitted. There's no longer any point in hiding it, "I don't."

"How long has this been happening? Do you know that?" Reiji looks up, and his posture straightens, like he's on the verge of standing up and coming over to examine him. 

Shun's mouth dries. He doesn't want to answer. "I. . ." his lack of answer is answer enough, and Reiji stands. 

"Why didn't you speak up sooner? LDS medical team can have you examined—"

"No!" There is no reason for Shun to have a visceral response at doctors, but terror spikes his veins and he knows the feeling of an adrenaline rush. "Don't bring them!" his voice is panicky to his own ears and he pitches forward, needing to grab something— anything for support because his legs have weakened beneath him. 

He would have collapsed if it weren't for Reiji, his hands shooting out and grabbing hold of his shoulders, keeping him standing and supported. His panic must be telegraphed on his face, for him to have reacted that fast. With the rising sickness in his stomach his anger is being drowned beneath waves of dry nauseous fear. "You have a phobia." Reiji states, and doesn't call any doctors.

"Don't—" the single word is all Shun can manage to choke out.

Looking down at state Shun is in, Reiji clearly begs to differ.

"I. . . _didn't_ ," he corrects, and lets Reiji guide him to his chair. And then as if he weren't feeling pathetic enough, the door slides open— an audience, that's the _last_ thing he needs.

Layra is in the front, wide eyes nervous and visible, he's looking up rather than down for once. He's watching them, like he does when he's terrified of disapproval but doesn't dare look down and miss the signs of it. Behind him, is a person Shun doesn't recognize. This is a _not_ the kind of weakness he'll show on a first impression, _ever_ , and he's already narrowing his eyes and finding again his anger, as his pulse calms. 

"I see I'm interrupting something." She doesn't sound apologetic in the least, and her irritated tone is a mirror of Shun's usual.

"Serena," Reiji flatly greets.

The name doesn't ring any bells.

—

Everything else is falling apart but his call-and-response is curt, and perfect. He knows the solid vision chant, and metes it out like a drill seargeant— he’s not an _advertisement_ and letting it drag on longer or be given more attention than it’s due irritates him. The announcer calls out as and his opponent face each other and begin, “LDS’s Kurosaki Shun, serious and focused on battle, as always! Here we have the soul of true duelist!”

The thin compliment settles on him like a layer of grime. He glares but doesn't correct the announcer. Like so many other things, it's worthless.

—

He's seen the advertisements for the school, using footage of previous tournaments— he's gotten popular, _somehow_ , so he's used to seeing his own face in them. But other duelists get snippets of dialogue, their catch-phrases and their debuts, but he's noticed: all the videos of his debut are silent.

He takes Reiji's key to the video archives— he's always been allowed in his room, since he came here. The video of himself at sixteen, audio uncensored isn't hard to find.

He is sure this is because when he watches it, it answers nothing at all— He feels as sick as he does when doctors see to him after his matches— His younger self's aims, they're just as nonsense to him as Reiji watching foreign news. There's nothing his own words call to mind, just a vast desert of memory— the impression of fear and flame and sleepless nights, but nothing _stays_. They vanish into nothing like solid vision at the end of a battle.

He watches it two more— three more times, anyway. Reiji finds him there, Shun on his fourth watch, and sits down next to him. Shun could ask, could _demand_ an explanation. Instead he turns to the only thing he remembers being solid, ever, and yanks him down. His kiss is all teeth, his frustration bleeding out into unvoiced questions on his tongue and chewed into Reiji's lower lip. He feels like he never wants to breathe again, as he inhales sharply through his nose, and Reiji responds, Shun's lead allowed but Reiji bites _back_ , not as hard but enough so Shun backs off. The kiss mellows to something less violent but no less solid and the empty anger and confusion inside Shun isn't nearly filled.

But Reiji is better than nothing. 

—

Serena leans against the wall behind him, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed with scowling lines but her face is a smirk. Shun stares down at her, the only difference separating his expression from hers the hard line of his mouth. “What do you want? Reiji doesn’t have time to deal with you.”

There’s a bitter twist to her lips and she snorts, “No, he wouldn’t. He’s busy with his _new project._ ”

"Then move." She is blocking the entrance from the hallway into the observation room, and will fall backwards into it if anyone opens the door to leave. "You’re in the way."

As obligingly as Serena ever does _anything_ , she takes a single step away from the door, towards Shun. She looks up at him, her green eyes staring up into his gold ones “Go crawl to his side.”

"I’m not his lapdog!" he shouts, riled. Something about her gets to him in a way no one else can, and she’s more acrid to him than he’s seen her be to anyone else— instead of curt orders, she makes a special effort to be insulting. He lifts his arm, ready to summon his duel disk for battle and she’s already doing the same. 

"I never said that," she denies, insincere. He expects the next words out of her mouth to be a battle chant, but instead she bares her teeth and asks, "Don’t you ever wonder why we look alike?" The bright blue bangs framing her face and the dark bangs that frame his are highlighted in the neon light of their duel disks, and for a moment there might be something more, flickering to awareness— but she finishes the line with, "Maybe he has a _type_ ," and it dies.

-

"Did you ever find Ruri?" Layra has his hands in his lap, clasped tightly, nervous. He doesn't carry the bear anymore. Himeka recently deemed him too old, and he slouches and clutches at his own arms and shoulders, searching for a new way to shield. When Shun keeps staring, silently, Layra peeks beneath his hat at Shun’s face, and then having determined it wasn’t too dangerous to continue, quietly mumbles into his hood, "You used to look for her. . . talk about looking for her a lot."

Shun continues staring, and Layra quickly ducks his head, in retreat. He doesn’t leave his chair, waiting for his older brother, but his back is ramrod straight with anxious energy. Like he'd said something he shouldn’t have, and he knows it.

Slowly, Shun spoke, “Ruri?” He can’t place the name, and it aches in the gaps, “Who is that?”

Layra shudders and won’t speak again, to him or his brother, the rest of the night. They eat in silence, the clink of the silverware against porcelain the only sound.

—

The uniform is uncomfortable in a way he can’t describe, because it fits perfectly. Serena’s lip curls in some unnamed disgust and she tells him, “Look, we match.” The stars that grace only their uniforms are the exactly same.


End file.
